


Semper Fidelis

by RoyMinus



Category: The Facts of Life
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6130969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyMinus/pseuds/RoyMinus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo and Blair's paths have diverged since they pursued drastically different careers.  What happened, and what will happen when they finally reconnect?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have not done rigorous research for this story, so it may not be especially accurate with regards to USMC/DADT history.

“I, state your name.”

“I, Joanne Marie Polniaczek.”

“Do solemnly swear.”

“Do solemnly swear.”

“That I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States…”

Despite the solemnity of the occasion, Jo’s mind wandered during this well-memorized oath.  Her old friend Natalie Green, now Natalie Richardson, Pentagon correspondent, had sent a cryptic text just before the ceremony began:

_Briefing in a few. ASK me about it later, I’ll TELL you.  And good luck today, Colonel Goodwrench._

That’s usually how conversations about Nat’s briefings went, Jo mused, a bit miffed; Jo would ask Natalie about them, and Natalie would tell her!  Unless she was talking about…

“So help me God.”  She snapped back to reality. 

“So help me God,” Jo diligently repeated, completing the oath and lowering her right hand.  Brigadier General Jones made brief eye contact with her, his piercing blue eyes softening nearly imperceptibly in congratulations as both Marines remained firmly at the position of attention.  The band detail broke into the Marine’s Hymn, prompting involuntary chills up Jo’s spine.  The approximately forty Marines in the auditorium stood and remained at attention until the last note sounded. 

The narrator, Captain McGrady, then cut through the short silence: “Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes today’s ceremony.  On behalf of Brigadier General Jones and Education Command, thank you for attending.  Please now congratulate the newly promoted Colonel Polniaczek and enjoy a brief reception in the lobby.”

Jo’s personal contingent – mom and dad, Mrs. Garrett, Tootie, and retired Major Ashley Cooke – rose from the front row, all grinning ecstatically.  General Jones reached to shake Jo’s hand.  “ _Colonel_ Polniaczek,” the General said, softly but emphatically. “Thank you for allowing me to be a part of this ceremony.” 

“Sir!  Thank you for taking the time.  I know you’re busy, and I, well- it just wouldn’t have been the same with any other promoting officer.”  Jones smiled appreciatively and proceeded out of the auditorium to the lobby with his lieutenant aide in tow.  What followed was a blur of handshakes, congratulatory remarks, hugs, and quick conversations with the attendees.  Finally, her family and friends approached the stage. 

“Did we pin ‘em straight?  They look good, right?”  Jo’s dad said, more of an exclamation than a question.  Jo’s mom grabbed Jo’s left shoulder to examine the new eagle insignia on her green service coat.

“Of course we did, Charlie,” Rose replied.  “Jo, you look wonderful.” 

“Thanks, Ma.”

Mrs. Garrett weaved her way through the family gathering.  “Well, _I_ am going to get a hug,” she announced.  “I don’t care if you’re a big tough Marine colonel, you’re still my Jo.”

“Aw, of course, Mrs. G.  Thank you so much for coming,” Jo smiled, embracing the woman who had stood by her side through thick and thin.

“Smiiile for the camera!” Tootie cut in, flashing her new Canon in Jo’s direction.

“C’mon, Tootie,” Jo laughed, unable to muster her usual scowl at such interruptions.  “We were havin a moment.”

“And, if you’ll recall, _Jo_ , our dear friend Natalie asked me to document such _moments_.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.  Hey, I gotta give Nat a call.  Let her know I didn’t trip on my way up to the stage or anything.”

“I woulda _never_ let you live that down if you had!” said the tall woman behind Tootie, the retired Major Ashley Cooke.

“Hey-ey, Ash!  Thanks for comin, pal.  I hate to tear you away from relaxin on the beach, or whatever it is you retired people do.”

“Watch it, Joanne,” Cooke replied in a falsely menacing tone, “You know damn well I’m busier than I’ve ever been with my practice.  Probably busier that you’ve ever been in your life, ya big slacker.”

“Right,” scoffed Jo, gesturing at her new rank insignia, “the Marine Corps loves to reward laziness.”  The two Marines had easily fallen back into their classic witty repartee, although they had only seen each other about once a year for the past six years since Cooke had gotten out of the Corps.

“All right, all right, you two,” Charlie interrupted.  “Let’s not forget about the reception that’s currently taking place.  It is in your honor, after all, Jo.”  His eyes gleamed with pride as Jo met them with a grin in response.  The group headed up the steps to join the reception.

* * *

 

“The MARINES?! Have you lost your mind?”

“Always so supportive, that one,” Natalie cracked, as she and Tootie sat on the couch in the living room, watching the main event.

“Yes, Blair, the Marines,” Jo shot back.  “Unlike you, I am not opposed to doing something challenging for a living.”

“Oooh,” groaned Natalie and Tootie in unison, as if the response had actually caused them physical pain. 

“This is better than Navratilova versus Graf!” whispered Tootie, turning exaggeratedly back to Blair as if watching a match at Wimbledon.

Blair recoiled.  “Challenging,” she repeated stiffly.  Jo knew the remark had struck hard.  “Funny, I have a feeling inheriting a multimillion dollar international corporation is going to be fairly challenging.”

“That’s diff-“

“Ah, ah, ah!” Blair hushed Jo. “Yes, Blair Warner can’t possibly do anything nearly as tough as Jo Polniaczek.  I understanding completely.  I also would never do anything nearly as foolish as signing up to go get blown to pieces in some far-off country.”

“That’s….” Jo began.  She didn’t know how to respond to such a callous remark.  The severity of what she had just said seemed to dawn on Blair.

“Jo, I-“

“Nah, that’s alright, Warner,” Jo said, surprisingly letting the comment slide.  “I gotta go study.”  She picked up her book bag and nearly sprinted upstairs.

As soon as Jo was out of sight, Natalie started, “Oh, Blair!  That was pretty harsh!”

“Even for you and Jo!” Tootie added.

Blair exhaled deeply, trying and failing to remain calm. 

“Yes, I know!  But, it’s the Marines!  You can’t seriously tell me you think this is a good idea.”

“Well, no,” Tootie agreed, “I think it’s dangerous and scary, but challenging and impressive at the same time.  Honestly, Blair, it’s exactly the kind of thing that would appeal to Jo!  And we all know how pointless it is to try and change her mind about stuff.”

“We did it with Eddie,” countered Blair, stubbornly.

“But that was years ago,” said Natalie.  “And, I can kinda see the appeal.  In the military, you might have the chance to travel the world.  And, of course, they’ve got those fabulous dress blues…” Tootie joined in Natalie’s reverie of hunky Marines in their dress uniforms. 

“Oh, cut it out, you two!  Focus on the real issue here!”  Blair lost what little grip she had on the conversation.  “Jo is going to join the Marines, go off to war, and we’ll never see her again!”

“Blair,” Tootie sighed.  “You heard her telling Mrs. Garrett.  There’s no guarantee she’ll even get accepted for OCS or make it through the first ten weeks.”

“And even then,” Natalie continued as Mrs. Garrett entered quietly from the kitchen.  “She may decide she doesn’t like it.  She could make it all the way through OCS and not accept her commission.”

Blair shook her head.  “I know, but…” she paused, still deeply concerned and conflicted.  Mrs. Garrett spoke up.

“Natalie and Tootie are right, Blair.  Even though I’m not crazy about the idea of Jo going off to become a big, tough Marine, I still support her decision.  You have to admit, it is a pretty brave and patriotic thing.  I think it would be best if we could all support her – she’s going to need it applying for OCS and even more when she’s actually there!” 

The girls sat solemnly, digesting this perspective, knowing that Mrs. Garrett was right, as usual.

* * *

 

“Get on line right now,” an inhuman growl emanated from the duty hut that housed the OCS instructors.

“Aye aye, Staff Sergeant!” shouted First Platoon in unison as they scrambled to put away their newly washed uniforms.

“Yeah, right.  I said, get on line right now.”  The Staff Sergeant emerged from the duty hut, her overwhelming disdain for the platoon’s endlessly insufficient volume and speed made the more intimidating by the picture-perfect appearance of her uniform.

“Aye aye, Staff Sergeant!” the officer candidates yelled, louder and more shrilly than before.

“You disgust me.  Bring your main packs on line right now.”

Her latest command was met with the slightest sag in the platoon’s posture as they bolted in between their bunks to their wall lockers to retrieve the large backpacks containing numerous items of Marine Corps gear and bring them back to the center aisle.

“I.  Didn’t.  Hear you.”  Staff Sergeant Alvarez held complete control over her platoon’s actions.  They had executed the command but forgotten to give the proper verbal acknowledgment.

“Aye aye, Staff Sergeant!”  The platoon realized their error and prepared for more of the games that had characterized the first two weeks of OCS.  Without skipping a beat, SSgt Alvarez continued.

“Put your packs back on your wall lockers, get back on line, do it right now!”

The platoon didn’t hesitate this time, providing the expected response and action with a rapidity that would have astounded them two weeks prior.  A well-oiled machine.  Well, a better-oiled machine.  They returned to the position of attention on their respective sides of the center aisle, daring to hope the games would end early tonight.

“Mail call,” Alvarez stated.

The candidates stood still, not knowing how to react.  They had not had mail call for the first two weeks of OCS.

SSgt Alvarez reached into the duty hut and grabbed a brown milk crate filled with envelopes and small packages.  She picked up the first letter gingerly as if it were covered in slime.

“Adams.”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant!” responded the first candidate to the Sergeant Instructor’s right.  Alvarez stared at her, while Adams kept her eyes diligently locked straight ahead.

“Are you going to come get it?!” Alvarez waved the letter above her head, towering over the short candidate.

“Yes, Staff Sergeant!” Adams yelled, turning to the Marine but confused about how to obtain the letter now that it was a foot out of her reach.

“Jump, candidate!”

“Aye aye, SSgt!” Candidate Adams jumped and reached for the letter with her left hand.  SSgt Alvarez moved the letter higher. 

“Two hands,” she said, in a deliberately instructional manner so the platoon could absorb how this was going to work.

“Aye aye, SSgt!” Adams responded, jumping and this time grasping the letter.

“Received, aye, SSgt,” Alvarez prompted.  Adams repeated the phrase and returned to her original place.

Alvarez picked up a stack of mail from the crate and leafed through it.

“Huh.  One of you nasties is popular.  Get up here, Plazaniak.”

At the sound of her butchered last name, which had become a running theme, Jo reacted instinctively.

“Aye aye, SSgt!”  She raced to the front of the squad bay from her bunk in the back left of the long room, trying to shake the creeping exhaustion after the long day of training.  When she reached the Sergeant Instructor, SSgt Alvarez held three letters and a postcard and looked Jo up and down.  She gestured to the mail.

“People actually LIKE you, Planetarium?”  It was getting slightly easier not to laugh or take offense to the incessant name-calling, but only slightly.  Jo put on her best blank face, fixing her eyes on a point just above SSgt Alvarez’s left shoulder.

“Yes, SSgt.”

“Yes!”  Alvarez shouted incredulously.  “Wow.”  Jo could feel the SSgt’s eyes boring into her skull but she didn’t dare make eye contact.  SSgt Alvarez continued louder, for the platoon to hear.

“It is a mystery to me why anyone likes you nasty things, but clearly,” she shook the crate for effect, “clearly, they do.  So, you better let ‘em know not to send you anything DUMB in these packages, and maybe they shouldn’t send POSTCARDS unless you want the whole STAFF to know about your friend Blair’s ‘faaaabulous’ trip to the friggin French Riviera.  You must be a real high roller, Polneeazeek.”  She scrutinized Jo again.  Jo was blushing slightly at all the attention and struggling to decide on the most innocuous response.  Instead, Alvarez released her.  “Take your mail, candidate.  And don’t friggin open it until I say so.  That goes for all of you!”  That, Jo could answer.

“Aye aye, SSgt!”  Remembering Adams’ ordeal, she grabbed her mail with both hands and finished, “Received, aye, SSgt!” 

After the rest of the mail had been distributed, the candidates were allowed five minutes to read or write letters, study the candidate regulations, or pray.  As exciting as it was to receive mail from the outside world, Jo fought mostly unsuccessfully to remain awake.  She scanned the letters from her mom, dad, and Mrs. Garrett, all offering encouragement and some anecdotes of life back in New York.  She couldn’t help a small smile that crept across her lips as she glanced through stories of the usual hijinks at her uncle’s auto shop.  Nor could she help the immediate scowl at the sight of the extravagant beach resort scene on Blair’s postcard.  Jo decided she would make time another night this week to respond to the letters with an update on training and to send one to Blair telling her to stuff it. 

The satisfaction of envisioning Blair receiving such a letter was quickly interrupted.  SSgt Alvarez reappeared from the duty hut announcing the end of the brief respite.  She loudly ordered the candidates to “put that trash away,” and ran them through the final steps of evening activities before they climbed into their racks and turned the lights off.

Jo appreciated the mail – the encouragements, the news from the outside world, even the tales of Blair’s summer _vacances_ in Europe.  But she didn’t want to skyline herself to the Staff.  OCS was challenging enough without special attention.


	2. Chapter 2

Jo made the necessary rounds at the reception, thanking the attendees, when she felt an arm from behind suddenly cross in front to put her in a choke hold.  The nearby guests jumped back, startled, but Jo instinctively dropped into a crouch, yanked the arm down with her, and shifted her left leg around behind the leg of her sudden attacker, ready to finish him with an off-balancing shove and a fist to the chest.  Major Cooke looked up from her conversation with Captain McGrady, a look of shock quickly passing into scorn.  Just as Jo held the attacker in a precarious position, a loud voice piped up in an unmistakable Boston accent from behind her.

“Woah, woah, woah!” he said, his grip dissolving just as quickly as it had begun and slipping out of Jo’s grasp.  “Still got it, huh, P!”

Jo turned around to see Lieutenant Colonel Brian Xavier.

“What the hell, X-Man!  You were about to be on the deck, crying with a broken clavicle… Again.  What’re you doin’ here?!”

Xavier made a show of dusting off his Alphas, always content to be the center of attention.  “Touché, my friend.  I’m checkin in heah!  Hey, wait, are those…” he took in Jo’s new Colonel insignia.  “Well hoooly shit!  My apologies, Ma’am!”  He snapped smartly to attention.  In the corner of the lobby, Major Cooke excused herself from Captain McGrady, stabbed the last piece of fruit on her plate from the reception with her toothpick, tossed the plate in the trash, and slipped out in a huff.

“Aw, give it a rest, ya goof,” Jo fired back playfully.  “And I’ll take your profanity-laced exclamation as a congratulations.  So.  Checkin in.  Where to?”

“Training Command.  Taking over the aviation training pipeline.”  He raised his hands for dramatic effect, “I guess when the aviation world needs a brilliant solution, they gotta call in the Top Gun.”

“Ha!  More like they must want the point of view of the lowest common denominator.  By the time you’re done ‘solving’ it, it’ll be so easy a caveman could do it!”

Xavier stepped back in mock disgrace.  “The thanks I get!  Anyway, I gotta go check in before everyone leaves for the day.  Timeliness was nevah my strong suit!”

“Believe me, I know,” Jo returned before shifting to face Tootie who put a hand on her shoulder.  Tootie had corralled Charlie, Rose, and Mrs. Garrett. 

“Jo, we’ll see you tonight.  Old Ebbitt Grill.  6:30, sharp!" 

“Sure thing, Tootie,” Jo smiled back, pausing as she scanned the group and then, quickly, the room.  “Hey, where’s Ash?”

“Huh,” Charlie remarked.  “She musta slipped off.  She was with us walking out of the auditorium…”  Jo shrugged and resolved to track down her friend after parting with her family and friends.  Her family and friends!  A new wave of emotion washed over her at the thought of all of them here for her momentous day.

“Well, thanks for coming, you guys.  You’ve all supported me through so much…”  She looked down and felt her eyes begin to mist over.  Mrs. Garrett placed her hand reassuringly on Jo’s arm.  Smiling, she instinctively cut in to take the spotlight off of Jo, a classic Mrs. G move for which Jo would never stop being grateful.

“You know, Jo, we love you very much, but I have a date with Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Jefferson, and Mr. Washington this afternoon, and I don’t want to be late!” she laughed slyly at her own humor before adding, “You finish up your work, and we’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

“All right,” Jo grinned, fighting the onset of tears she knew would earn her endless ribbing from her Marine buddies.  “Love you guys too.  See you soon.”  She watched as her cohort trooped out to their cars on the way to a sightseeing tour in DC for the afternoon.

Jo exhaled deeply and turned down the corridor towards her office, trying to shake the overwhelming number of thoughts replaying scenes from the day in her head.  She stopped for a quick sip of water and paused to look at the framed drawing above the fountain.

MARINE LIEUTENANT CALLS FOR FIRE, AL ANBAR PROVINCE, IRAQ

read the title, matter-of-factly.  The drawing depicted an officer, radio in hand, barking out directions as dust swirls around him.

The restroom door to the right of the water fountain swung open, and Major Cooke strode out, stopping quickly as she registered Jo there and what she was looking at.

“There you are!” Jo exclaimed, beginning to shift away from the fountain.

Ashley gestured back to the drawing.  “Add a bun, change the venue, and that could be you.” 

“Nahhh, don’t be silly.  Women haven’t been in combat.”

Jo and Ashley gave each other rueful grins and stood in silence for a beat.  Jo moved first to walk back to her office, and Ash automatically fell in step to Jo’s left.

“That was a great ceremony, Jo.  General Jones’ comments before…”

“I know!”

“I mean, he’s so soft-spoken, but so god damned articulate.”

Jo shook her head.  “I know… He’s always been that way.”  It was true – Jones’ quiet nature departed from the typical “Type A” personality expected of Marines, yet he had still managed to rise steadily through the ranks and earned a reputation for fairness and incisive analysis.  Jo marveled at the wide range of personalities she had encountered during her career.  On one end, you had Jones, and the other you had… Xavier.  She suddenly connected his appearance in the lobby with Ashley’s departure.  Continuing down the hall with Ashley, Jo chose her next words carefully.

“Hey, did you pop smoke earlier because X-Man showed up?”

Ashley’s jaw clenched, but she kept walking.  Jo took that as a yes.  “Ah, we don’t hafta talk about it.”

“Thanks,” Ash replied, quietly.

The two reached the Education Command staff offices.  They entered, and Jo put in her combination.  As she opened the door to her small but organized office, the cell phone lying on her desk blinked, indicating a recent voicemail.

Ashley glanced around the room, observing the distinct lack of decoration or ornamentation save for a framed platoon photograph. “OCC-2” read the gold letters set plainly onto the group’s red guidon.  Behind the four stern women in front stood eighteen candidates in the old tri-color camouflage attire looking uniformly exchausted.  Candidate Cooke and Candidate Polniaczek blended into the back right of the picture.  Ashley leaned forward to examine the photo as Jo sat, pulled out the report she had to review, and looked at her phone to see who had called.

“Oh my god,” Ashley exclaimed.  “Do we ever look lost.  We had NO idea what we were in for, huh?”  She smiled, the highlights of their more entertaining hijinks rolling through her mind.  Jo gave a distracted “mm,” before mumbling “damn phone.”

Ashley glanced back at her friend, reaching over her shoulder to make a few quick touches on the phone to access voicemails. 

“How did you-“ Jo managed when Natalie’s voice came through on speaker.

“Hey, Jo!  Congrats again!!  You must still be busy with the ceremony.  Check the news, though, when you get this.  I’ll see you tonight!”  As usual, Nat was speaking with her characteristic speed and intensity, but Jo figured it must be something important if the news was receiving top billing on the same day as her promotion.  She put her ID card into the computer and pulled up a news website.

“Hey, uh, Ash…”

“Yes, dear,” Ash replied absentmindedly, pulling away from the old OCS photograph to look at the computer screen.  She quickly sat back on the edge of the desk in shock.

DON’T ASK DON’T TELL REPEALED

read the top of the website in large bold letters, a picture of gay rights activists waving flags and celebrating outside of the U.S. Capitol building featured below the headline.

The two women turned to each other, disbelief dueling countless other emotions in their minds.  Silently, Jo turned back to the computer and opened the story.  She slowly scrolled down.  “17-year ban ends…” “openly gay recruits to be accepted by all services…” “Chairman of the Joint Chiefs lauds repeal…”

By the end of the article, Jo had tears in her eyes; relief from nearly two decades of closeted service washed over her, and she could not even attempt to find words for the moment.  Instead, she stood and gave her friend a hug, the two of them laughing and crying simultaneously in overwhelmed jubilation.  After a minute of cathartic embrace, Jo sat back down, struggling to control her laughter and dry her tears.  Ashley grinned back through her own.

“Wow,” Jo stated.  “Nat’s a saint for tipping me off.  I never woulda checked the news otherwise, with everything else going on today.  A damn saint.”

“Admiral Mullen’s a saint!” Ash replied.  “I’d marry him – and I can say that NOW as a proud bisexual!”  She and Jo burst out laughing again.  The sudden possibility of open and honest military service was, for the moment, absurdly hilarious.

Jo sighed heavily.  “Aw man.  This is too much.  How’m I gonna handle dinner tonight?” her eyes widened, “Or work on Monday?  Or life, in general?!”

Ash looked at Jo, her eyes glimmering with happiness.

“No idea, Colonel.  But you’ll figure it out.”

* * *

 

Blair sat bolt upright in her bed, the darkness of the room not stopping her from turning instinctively to look at her friend Jo’s bed to her left.  Her eyes, surprisingly awake for the apparent pre-dawn hour, discerned a neatly made bed and no Jo.

“Hmph!” she thought.  Even though the two hadn’t spoken in nearly a week since the scene in the living room, Blair had become increasingly aware of Jo’s activities.  And Jo had adopted a nearly inhuman (or perhaps, superhuman) training regimen on top of her spring semester courses, working out each morning at the track and twice heading up to Albany to meet with an officer recruiter.

The thought of Jo in the Marines still bothered Blair to no end, but she had started to resign herself to it, knowing her protests of Jo’s past choices tended only to strengthen Jo’s resolve.  As Blair sighed deeply and bounced back to a prone position, the idea for a different tack to opposing Jo’s plan sprang into her head.  If Jo became keener on decisions she knew Blair opposed, perhaps an outward show of support from Blair would have the reverse effect.  “Brilliant!” Blair thought to herself.

With a sudden disregard for the early hour Blair rose, threw on an unlikely outfit of a Langley College sweatsuit and visor, and rushed from the room.

It was a chilly Peekskill morning, typical for mid-March, as Blair strode down the hill to the Langley track.  The first light was beginning to rise in the East above the treeline.  A lone figure was finishing a fast lap around the track underneath the stadium lights.  Blair halted abruptly, trying to recall why she was there.  Would Jo be mad at her for interrupting her workout?  Was she mad about Blair’s comment from the last time they had spoken?  When Jo began another lap, Blair subconsciously continued walking closer, passing behind and between the bleachers to arrive next to the track as Jo rounded the final corner.  Jo hit the straightaway running towards where Blair was standing.  If she saw Blair standing there, she didn’t show it.  She finished her lap and slowed, clasping her hands above her head and working to steady her breathing.

Jo slowly circled back to her left, stopping directly across the track facing Blair.  She paused for a moment and stuck her hands on her hips, still a little out of breath and contemplating what to say in response to Blair’s highly unusual appearance at the track at this hour.  Blair stared back.  Hoping she had the correct terminology, Blair ventured a compliment, “That was… a nice lap.”

Jo exhaled, amused. 

“Ya take a wrong turn on your way to the nail salon, Blondie?  And set your alarm clock wrong?”

“Hardly,” Blair continued.  “I’m here to help you practice.”

Jo cocked her head to the side, “Practice?  Practice what?”

“Practice for the Marines.”

At this, Jo couldn’t help but laugh.

“Practice for the Marines,” she repeated deliberately.  She took a seat on the grass inside the track to stretch, extending her left leg in front of her and stretching forward.  Blair strode across the track and hesitated for a moment before sitting cross-legged on the track next to Jo. 

“Look, Jo.  I know you may not believe me, but I am sorry for what I said before.  I was concerned, as any friend would be, for your safety.  But I can see that you really want to do this.  So if it’s that important to you, I want to help.”

Jo raised her eyebrows, processing this statement to gauge Blair’s intent.

“Gee, Blair.  I gotta say, that’s really cool of you.  I do, ya know, really wanna do this.  As soon as I met the officer recruiter, it’s like it gave me a mission for the future.  I want to be a Marine.  Serve my country.  Be a part of something bigger than myself.  And show everybody what a poor kid from the Bronx can do.”

Blair fought her natural instinct to oppose Jo’s declaration.  Instead, she nodded encouragingly and realized she could see some logic to Jo’s motivations.  Why did she have to have such noble aspirations? 

“I mean, first I gotta just focus on getting to OCS,” Jo continued.  “Captain Webster – that’s my recruiter, says they’re looking for more women, so I have a good shot.  But I still want to prepare as best as I can.”

“Sure,” agreed Blair.  “So… how can I help you prepare?”

Again, Jo paused, looking cautiously back at Blair.  This sudden unconditional support from Blair was unusual, but welcome, she decided.

“Well, that was my last lap.  I was going to call it quits, but since you’re here, could you help me with a set of crunches?”

“Does it involve getting dirty? 

“Yes, Blair.  Sweaty and dirty.  I’m applying for the Marines, not Saks Fifth Avenue." 

“Shut up,” Blair shot back.  Then, to herself, “This had better be worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell, a few original characters popped up here... hopefully not too distracting but I think they'll make things interesting.


End file.
